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“On the other side of Jordan 
In the sweet fields of Eden 
Where the Tree of Life is blooming 
There is rest for you.” 

With his upturned face to the noonday sun, William Fred¬ 
erick Cody, on January 10th, 1917, met the death angel face to 
face, and drifted out into a.dreamless sleep—that knows no wak¬ 
ing. It was the peaceful ending of the most picturesque life in 
American history. As his friend I lay my humble tribute this 
Sabbath afternoon in the lodge room of the Elks’ Home of Den¬ 
ver, Colorado, upon the bier of him whose achievements are the 
household knowledge of the entire,world. 

Surrounding me today are distinguished representatives of 
the U. S. Army, Gen. Baldwin, Gen. Randall, Col. Pope, Col. 
Monahan, together with representatives of the Grand Army of 
the Republic, the Woman’s Relief Corps, G. A. R. and Ladies of 
the G. A. R. 

The great state of Colorado is represented in Governor Gun¬ 
ter, state officials and committees of the House and Senate, to¬ 
gether with Mayor Speer and all Denver city officials. 

Wyoming is generously represented by Governor Houx, U. S. 
Senator Kendrick, Senator Warren and by state officials and 
committees from House hnd Senate. 

Nebraska is represented by a representative delegation and 
by the Eminent Commander of the Knights Templar. 

Kansas mourns also with us, while the great Elk organiza¬ 
tion is all about us from Colorado, Nebraska, Wyoming, Kansas 
and New Mexico. 

Then there are the Colorado Pioneers and the National 
Order of Cow Boy Rangers, while the Indian tribes remaining 
have come from their far away hunting grounds to lay away their 
beloved Pahaska, as Col. Cody was lovingly called by the Indians. 

His life typified Dr. Johnson’s truism, “That it is better to 
live rich than to die rich.” His friends were legion, from presi¬ 
dents to kings, czars and royalty, to the millions of the common 
people. His life was for the latter class, and this man with the 
courage of a lion, had the heart of a child and the sweetness of a 
woman. 

His early life was chaotic; born in the wilds of Iowa in 
1845, later taken to Leavenworth, Kansas, where his father was 
killed in 1857. At the age of twelve years he w T as left fatherless 
and forced to aid in caring for a whole family. His first employ¬ 
ment was a plains courier, and he made good; his tender years 
being no bar to his filling the place as a “look-out” for trouble. 
I knew well his employer, Col. Majors of the old trail freighters. 
Cody grew with his calling and answered bravely to the Call of 


the Wild. The great West fired his young spirit and he grew 
rapidly and advanced to guide and stage driver in those early 
days when no pussy-footers were known west of the Mississippi 
river. It took .men of iron nerve to ford rivers, traverse the 
plains and bring up, after untold hardships, under the shadow 
of the Rockies. 

He was an international educator of men, whose tutors were 
Generals Sheridan, Carr, Merritt, Cook, Terry, Miles, Col. Royal, 
and a brilliant galaxy of America’s chief fighters. Every school 
boy has read this wonderful series of tales and millions have per¬ 
sonally seenthis superb figure as he traveled the states, and all 
Europe, typifying the real American Pioneer and bringing home 
to the effete East the strength of the heroes of the plains. He 
lived and loved Arthur Chapman’s poem:— 

Out where the handclasp’s a little stronger, 

Out where the smile dwells a little longer, 

That’s where the West begins. 

Out where the sun is a little brighter, 

Where the snows that fall are a trifle whiter, 

Where the bonds of home are a wee bit tighter, 

That’s where the West begins. 

Out where the skies are a trifle bluer, 

Out where friendship’s a little truer, 

That’s where the West begins. 

Out where a fresher breeze is blowing, 

Where’s there’s laughter in every streamlet flowing, 

Where there’s more of reaping and less of sowing, 

That’s where the West begins. 

Out where the world is in the making, 

Where fewer hearts in despair are aching, 

That’s where the West begins. 

Where there’s more of singing and less of sighing, 

Where there's more of giving and less of buying, 

And a man makes friends without half trying, 

That’s where the West begins. 

In all his years of hardships, there had been burned into the 
soul of Cody, real, true and progressive Americanism, and his 
life was at his country’s call. When in ’64 the rebellion was 
shaking the citadel of free government, he was in the midst of the 
carnage as a fighting scout for the Union Army, even before he 


was of age. Every general loved Bill Cody, and the big army 
chiefs had this untamed Westerner made Chief of Scouts of the 
American Army, and how well he filled his post every history 
recalls to his honor and credit. When peace was restored he re¬ 
turned to the great West and became the great father of the 
Indians and was even adopted as chief by the Ogallalas. After 
the Custer massacre in 1876, he followed Gen. Terry through 
Montana along the Little Missouri river and in a fierce fight 
with the hostile Sioux, at the battle of War Bonnet, he was chal¬ 
lenged as Chief Scout to come out from the lines and fight single- 
handed the murderous Chief-Yellow Hand, who carried a toma¬ 
hawk, while Cody defended himself w T ith his hunting knife. This 
w^as a battle royal and the Indian w as speedily dispatched to the 
happy hunting grounds. What nerve, what superb courage, 
what a victory! He w as thanked by the Congress of the United 
States for conspicuous bravery. What w^e need today is the 
Cody spirit, and the spirit of the cowmen w T ho blazed the way 
for this generation, avIio subdued the w T ild beasts, fought the In¬ 
dians, bridged the rivers, tunnelled the mountains, built the rail¬ 
ways and made an empire out of a wilderness which is now- inhab¬ 
ited by millions of prosperous, happy and contented Americans. 

“Our fathers crossed the prairies, as of old their fathers crossed 
the sea, 

To make the West, as they the East, the homestead of the Free.” 

God bless the old pioneers and make us worthy to be their 
successors as fighting champions of liberty. 

And God forgive the misdirected and misguided Americans 
who in their mad scramble for wealth, are neglecting, opposing 
and maligning the efforts now- being made to defend this match¬ 
less heritage bequeathed to us. We ow T e unswerving allegiance 
to the army and navy of the United States, and w-e should pre¬ 
pare for the future a complete and adequate defense. We should 
compel military training, as the surest preventative of war. You 
would never have had a West if it had not been for the heroes of 
the plains. It w T as the Cody spirit—that forced fear into sav¬ 
ages, and subdued ignorant anarchy. We shall yet be called to 
fight a educated anarchy ” Civilization in all Europe has proved 
a myth and only a despised scrap of paper. We hope to escape 
such a murderous cataclasm,—but the best way to prevent it is 
to get well ready for the w T orst. Cody was the man on ahead of 
the army—the “look-out.” We should demand from our adminis¬ 
tration “What of the Night?” and may it never be written across 
the ruins of free government—“Mene, Mene Tekel Upharsin,” 
weighed in the balance and found wanting. 

In my limited time it is impossible to recall the many sue- 


cesses of Col. Cody on the American stage through his varied and 
strenuous career as guide, scout, Indian fighter, as the originator 
of the Great Wild West Show, as a successful stockman and irri¬ 
gation farmer, as a good citizen, loving husband and father and a 
truly American home builder. My mission is to bring home to 
this great assembly the lesson of his courage, his struggles with 
poverty, his prodigal liberality when wealth was showered 
around him; his iron-willed Americanism. No man can point 
to this bier and accuse him of selfishness, unkindness or of being 
money-mad. He was too big for these “impedimentshe lived 
in God’s sunlight and reflected upon all a sunny disposition. No 
one ever heard Col. William F. Cody speak ill of a living soul, 
and his purse was always open to the poor and needy. He was 
rich in good deeds and is today mourned by countless thousands. 
His indomnitable will held fast to this earthly habitation even 
to the last. 

The last call of the old Scout was for Johnny Baker, and 
his old pard and loyal friend rushed away from New York, only 
to find upon his arrival in Denver, the dear old comrade had 
crossed the Great Divide, and he mingled his tears with the fam¬ 
ily whom he loved, for he could not be comforted. 

His last telegram was to his personal friend King George of 
England, that the war might end and peace be restored through¬ 
out the whole world. 

His last wish was that he should be buried from the Elks’ 
Home. 

To his latest breath, he counted time by heart throbs, thought 
of others to the very end, and fell asleep as a tired child of 
Mother Nature. 

To our distinguished mayor, Hon. Robert W. Speer, we pay 
homage for arranging by deed from the city of Denver, that the 
remains of this great Western-American shall forever rest in the 
rocky fastness of Mt. Lookout, overlooking the Queen City of the 
West and overlooking the vast plains he helped to subdue and 
make habitable. 

It is fitting that his tomb should be hewn out ofthe eternal 
granite of the Rockies, and it is to be hoped that a magnificent 
equestrian statue shall be erected by the people of the great 
West, while the U. S. government should erect the highest steel 
flagstaff on the continent and keep Old Glory floating thereon 
for all time, as a magnet to draw millions of pilgrims, where they 
could pay their devoirs at the last resting place of the first—the 
last—the chiefest of American pioneers. 

It was of these heroes Will Carleton sang: 

“When the springtime touch is lightest, 

When the summer-eyes are brightest, 

Or the autumn sings most dear; 


When the winters hair is whitest. 

Sleep, old pioneer. 

Safe beneath the sheltering soil, 

Late enough you crept; 

You were weary of the toil 
Long before you slept. 

Well you paid for every blessing, 

Bought with grief each day of cheer; 

Nature’s arms around you pressing, 

Nature's lips your brow caressing, 

Sleep, old pioneer. 

When the hill of toil was steepest ; 

W 7 hen the forest-frown was deepest. 

Poor, but young, you hastened here; 

Came when solid hope was cheapest; 

Came a pioneer. 

Made the western jungles view 
Civilization’s charms; 

Snatched a home for yours and you 
From the lean tree arms. 

Toil had never cause to doubt you, 

Progress’ path you helped to clear : 

But today forgets about you, 

And the world rides on without you— 

Sleep, old pioneer. 

Careless crowds go daily past you, 

Where their future fate has cast you, 

Leaving not a sigh or tear; 

And your wonder-wmrks outlast you— 

Brave old pioneer. 

Little care the selfish throng, 

Where your heart is hid, 

Though they thrive upon the strong, 

Resolute work it did. 

But our memory eyes have found you, 

And w^e behold you grandly dear; 

With no work-day woes to wound you, 

With the peace of God around you— 

Sleep, old pioneer!” 

Sleep on old Scout! Under the aegis of the old flag our hal¬ 
lowed Stars and Stripes, may he rest forever and a day. 

Over three score years and ten and one, his record is made 
up, and we his friends lovingly lay him away. We shall garland 
his mountain tomb with sweet anemones, the wild columbines 
and the mountain daisies. His grave shall catch the first kiss 


of the rising sun, while the moon and ten thousand stars keep 
watch when the shadows have dropped down from the eternal 
snow-capped peaks beyond. The mountain pines shall sing their 
requiems about his tomb, and in the hush and peacefulness of 
this abode, the spirit of William Frederick Cody shall live and 
dwell with us like a sweet benediction, forever and forever. 

JOHN W. SPRINGER, 

January 14th, 1917. 

This morning I read the following soul picture drawn by 
Harriet Bradley, blind poetess, State Home for Adult Blind, of 
Colorado. With God’s sunlight shut out from her sightless eyes, 
yet from her heart of hearts gushes the exquisite lines that 
follow: 


IN MEM OKI AM 
Oh, Princely Lookout Mountain, 

Thy highly honored crest 

Shall hold in trust the sleeping dust 

Of him avo loved the best, 

In Colorado’s Mansion, « 

’Mid sound of Sabbath bell, 

He lies in state Avhile comrades wait, 

To look their long “Farewell.” 

No need that bard or poet 
Should iterate his fame, 

Each girl and boy is thrilled with joy 
At mention of his name. 
Three-score-and-ten completed, 

And one to crown the end, 

With conscious breath he spoke of Death 
And met him as a friend. 

Two Continents will miss him, 

But one will prize him still, 

Tho Avhelmed with grief to lose our Chief, 
We’re proud of Buffalo Bill. 

In truth, Ave have not lost him, 

His record yet remains. 

His ashes sleep, but avc shall keep 
Our Hero of the Plains. 

Oh, Princely Lookout Mountain, 

Strong monument of grace, 

By living Amice Pahaska’s choice. 

To be his resting place, 

Till Resurrection Glory 
Shall gild thy snoAvy crest, 

Hold thou in trust the sleeping dust 
Of him Ave loved the best. 





